Wittenberg
by TeaRoses
Summary: Seras Victoria and Father Anderson have a religious discussion while attempting to maim each other. No pairings. Warnings: Violence, profanity, theology.


A.N. This is honestly just an attempt at humor and not meant to be disrespectful to any religious viewpoint. I'm only trying to expand a bit on some of the anti-Catholic and anti-Protestant rhetoric which does appear in canon, especially in the manga, and I mean no offense whatsover. Some OOCness for (I hope) humorous effect. A virtual cookie to the first one to place the last line in the first paragraph.   
  
Disclaimer: Hellsing is owned by Kohta Hirano, Pioneer Entertainment and others, not by me. No copyright infringement intended or implied and I am of course not making money off this.   
  
Wittenberg   
  
Seras Victoria was looking at herself in the mirror, wondering exactly why she still had a reflection. She turned the hem of her skirt up, then smoothed it down again. "This is supposed to be a military outfit, after all," she said to herself. "Can't they come up with a uniform that doesn't show my knickers? I could use pants."   
  
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. "Since when does anyone here bother to knock?" she thought to herself as she opened it.   
  
Before stood a large man in a trench coat who wore a giant cross.   
  
"Angel Dust Anderson," she muttered. "Just what I needed."   
  
"That's Father Anderson to ye, draculina," the man growled in his heavy accent. "Where's yer evil master?"   
  
Seras shrugged. "He's out."   
  
"Out where?"   
  
Now she was irritated. "Now how the hell should I know? Torturing babies, blowing up churches, purchasing obscene novelty products... but anyway, he's not here, so good-bye."   
  
"Ahm not leavin' til ah've finally kilt the bastard!" Anderson growled.   
  
"You may have a long wait. Last I heard Sir Integra hadn't ordered him to schedule in time for you to fly in from Rome and cut his head off again."   
  
The man gave an almost obscene grin then. "Perhaps ah'll have to content mahself with ye then, lassie."   
  
Seras rolled her eyes. "And me without the Harkonnen," she said, slamming the door in his face.   
  
By the time he forced the door open again, she had retrieved a Walther PPK from her dresser and was aiming it at him.   
  
"Prepare yerself fer hell!" he shouted, rushing at her with his silver blades drawn.   
  
She shot him in the stomach and ducked out of the way. "Oh shut up, will you, I'm not even going to hell. I'm more of a Universalist."   
  
"Heretics," he spat, "even they don' accept your kind, midian!" He ran at her again then and managed to stab her arm but she drew the blade out and threw it.   
  
"They probably would, really," she went on thoughtfully. "Very easygoing crowd, Universalists."   
  
She shot him in the neck this time and watched as he fell. He got up immediately as the wound rehealed.   
  
"Ye're all doomed" he thundered. "Even that accursed human what runs this place. Denyin' the true Church."   
  
"Sir Integra? She's Church of England, isn't she? Rather high in fact, or so I thought. Seems to me you'd have something in common."   
  
She broke off as he got her in the stomach with a blessed blade. That stung a bit, but she'd come a long way since their first fight, both in strength and speed.   
  
"Never! Agin' the Vatican! They're the Devil's propagandists!" roared Anderson, preparing to stab her again.   
  
She took the blade out of her stomach with a little wince, and just for fun jammed into his leg near the groin and watched as he bled and stumbled.   
  
"That is just too sixteenth-century of you, Father Anderson. Haven't you ever heard of ecumenism, or Unitatis Redintegratio?"   
  
He struggled up and ran at her again. "Dinna talk to me about Vatican II, you lyin' bitch!"   
  
She ducked and rolled under the coffin bed, reloading and shooting again.   
  
"You don't like that conclave?" she asked. "Does that mean Mel Gibson's father is an Iscariot member?"   
  
Anderson was lying on the floor, bleeding from multiple chest wounds. "Mel who? Oh, aye, the film! We took the bairns o' the orphanage, but it were nae violent enough for me."   
  
Anderson's regrowing flesh was pushing the bullets out already and Seras rolled out and drew the Walther again as she stood.   
  
"E'en Hellsing says the souls o' the undead are damned to Hell," the priest went on.   
  
Seras looked thoughtful for a moment. "The dying are freed by death from all penalties, and have a right to be released from them."   
  
"Wha' part o' the Scripture did ya twist that around from?" asked the confused Anderson.   
  
"Actually," said Seras, "I believe that's the Ninety-five Theses."   
  
"The wha?"   
  
"Oh you know, that Martin Luther nailed to the church door at Wittenberg in 1517."   
  
"I'll nail ye to a church door, ya Protestant whore!" he replied, rushing at her again.   
  
"Kinky," she muttered, and kicked his legs out from under him. He was down on the floor again, in front of the door, and she was pretty sure this time he said "Fuck."   
  
"I'm getting tired of this," she muttered. Drawing a giant wire from her pocket, she cut his right leg completely off.   
  
He looked up at her in anger. "Where in 'ell did ya get that?"   
  
"The butler, of course. He says he's too old for them now, but I suspect he could still kick your statue-kissing ass."   
  
"I dinna kiss statues you..." he trailed off, staring at the bloody stump.   
  
"Yes, I suppose that was beneath me. But it will take you a few minutes to regrow that. Now, shall I kill you, or save you for my master?"   
  
Anderson didn't look in the least afraid, but he threw a swirl of papers in the air while crawling out the door and disappearing.   
  
Seras stared at the impenetrable barrier of scripture as it settled, then finally picked one up.   
  
"Jumble sale? These aren't sacred texts! The bastard tricked me!"   
  
She sighed and looked at the floor. "About two hundred church bulletins and a leg. Better go get a broom."   
  
She closed the door behind her and walked off into the hall grumbling. 


End file.
